


Attention

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel tries a new tactic with his difficult worker bee.





	Attention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avocado_bros_4thewin (mkblitz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkblitz/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for mrpineapple42’s “#16 "Just talk to me." Glorfindel/Erestor.” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s too exhausted to bother heading down for lunch by the time he realizes what time it is and why his stomach’s bothering him. Like most days, Erestor pushes it aside. He has more important things to deal with, and his Elven constitution will protect him from a few missed meals. He did manage to grab a few bites at breakfast, though in retrospect, he probably should’ve sat down and had a bit more, instead of picking a few strawberries out of the bowl and hurrying on to his office. 

His office is currently a mess of parchment—letters, orders, reports, on everything from correspondence with the Woodland Realm’s wine supply to a formal complaint against the twins’ destructive sense of humour. Erestor likes to handle each grievance personally, though Lindir has been asking for more responsibility for quite some time. He’s still too young. And he’s too dedicated to his lord; he’d surely miss other details in his obsessive focus on just one person. Imladris is a large collection of people and problems, each of which must be carefully considered. Erestor is the one to consider them. 

He finishes reviewing Haldir’s letter and sets in on the mining expeditions requests from the forge when a knock sounds on his door. Erestor answers, “Come in,” without thinking, without even looking up. Whoever it is will probably be sent away with a wave of his hand, unless, of course, it’s his lord, or Lindir in need of new assignments.

It’s neither, and when Glorfindel’s light shimmers in his peripherals, he finally looks up. A small part of him is disappointed; by now, surely he should recognize the sound of Glorfindel’s knock. But then, he was preoccupied. He always is. 

Carrying a tray of fresh bread and fruits, Glorfindel comes towards him. Through a wide smile, Glorfindel announces, “I hope you are hungry.” Erestor manages a thin smile back before returning to his parchment, and Glorfindel reaches the side of his desk. Setting the tray down with one hand, Glorfindel takes a spare chair with the other, pulling it from against the wall. Erestor’s office has become entirely too cluttered with furniture in need of reassignment, but he never seems to find the time for such organization. 

He makes time to pick a slice of bread, bring it to his mouth, and say a curt, “Thank you.” Then he’s mid-bite and reading again. 

He only manages to read one line before Glorfindel clears his throat and pointedly adds, “I thought we might eat together.”

Waving his free hand, Erestor swallows and says, “Another time.” He doesn’t bother looking over; that was a dismissal.

But Glorfindel goes nowhere and merely replies, “Then how about you just talk to me?”

Something in Glorfindel’s voice finally stirs a reaction; Erestor lifts his gaze.

He finds Glorfindel’s handsome face in a drawn expression, uncharacteristically serious, and Erestor knows that something’s wrong. He slowly places his bread back on the tray and braces himself for another of _those_ talks. They come from very different worlds, the two of them, and very different positions, though he knows Glorfindel works just as hard as him. Just not as _long_. He tries to explain, “Glorfindel—”

“I feel neglected,” Glorfindel says bluntly, cutting him off. Erestor’s mouth abruptly snaps closed. Folding his hands calmly over the desk, Glorfindel continues, “You spend all your time and care on running Imladris, heedless of whether or not Lord Elrond lends you assistants, regardless of the season and the presence or absence of guests, and I have decided I am quite tired of trying to convince you this is unhealthy. I heard you the last time, and I agreed not to trouble you again: very well, I do not come to pester you about treating yourself better. Rather, I implore you to treat _me_ better. If you wanted to run yourself into the ground, perhaps you should not have committed yourself to another, and doomed him to watch in abject loneliness.”

By the time Glorfindel ends his speech, a frown is firmly fixed on Erestor’s face. He knows Glorfindel isn’t just pestering him to relax again; he can see the hurt in Glorfindel’s eyes, though Glorfindel is always strong and good at hiding such vulnerability. He’s good at many things, such as putting up with a thoroughly stubborn lover. And he’s beautiful, devastatingly so, which is precisely why Erestor didn’t want to look at him during the meal.

He’s more than a distraction. He’s a rogue force that wrecks havoc on Erestor’s heart. Erestor doesn’t want to think that he’s taken that magnificent lover for granted, but he knows he has. 

After a long minute of the two of them heatedly staring into one another, Erestor finally backs down. He sighs and half-teases, hoping to relieve some of the new tension that’s seeped into him, “Very well... but I do not have time to have sex over my desk today.”

The fact that Glorfindel doesn’t laugh is very telling for how gravely he meant this. He only smiles gently and says, “I really will settle for just talking. Later, if you like, although I will only leave now if you promise me you will eat something.”

Erestor has no trouble admitting, “I will. And then I will try to finish as early as I can, and I will come to your quarters tonight and make this up to you.”

Grinning ever broader, Glorfindel counters, “I will already be in yours, waiting to massage that stress from your shoulders, if you should like.”

The smile is contagious. Erestor can feel it spreading, no matter how hard he tries to uphold his stern visage. He feels strangely shaken, having been seen to his very core, but Glorfindel is the one person he doesn’t mind opening to. He murmurs, “Thank you,” and means it.

Glorfindel rises from his chair. He steps around the desk to bend down and kiss Erestor’s cheek, light and fleeting, respectful but reassuring. Then he turns to leave, and Erestor says, “Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel pauses, looking back around. Erestor reaches out for his wrist and pulls him down again for a proper kiss, then finally sends him away, with a mouthful of food and a promise for the night.


End file.
